The Fire's Glow
by Eternity's Ghost
Summary: Chelsea was, simply said, broken. Her life was directionless, pointless. Until, of course, she met the dazzling Dean Winchester, who gave her life new meaning. Follow in her foot-steps as her legacy takes many unexpected turns. Rating may change in later chapters. DeanXOC (ON HOLD DUE TO WRITER'S BLOCK)
1. Chapter 1: The Breaking Point

**Drum-roll please! *drum-roll* Coming now...the long awaited phenomenon...written by our very own moi...presenting my first SUPERNATURAL piece...The Fire's Glow! *cheering crowd* XDXD Enjoy! (And yes, SUPERNATURAL has to be in all caps!)**

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CHAPTER ONE: The Breaking Point

Pain. All it was, my whole world, was unbearable, scorching pain. My head swam and my vision blurred. The demons prancing around me were just black and red blurs. _Red? Where did the red come from? _I thought, only half concience. I mustered up enough strength to look down at myself, and gasped hoarsely. The chains binding me to the alter were bleached crimson, and two huge gashes in my side and gut were still pulsing blood, along with numerous cuts and burns. I ground my teeth together, letting out a low moan of protest as a hand clamped down on my jaw and forced my head up.

"Such a pretty face, even when it's mauled," said an infuriatingly familiar voice. "It's really too bad, you know. I would've loved to work with you. You're so full of pent-up, hidden anger; you would've been good at the job."

"I'll never be like you, Alastair," I growled, my fury lending me some strength. "I would rather go through this every day for the rest of my life in this God-forsaken pit." Alastair smirked and drove a knife deep into my thigh. I let out a low wail of agony. The blade was covered in Holy water and salt, setting my whole leg on fire. I groaned as the roaring inferno seared my leg to the bone, wanting nothing more than to break my bonds and clutch at it. My hands curled into fists and my fingernails pierced my palms, drawing blood. I ground my teeth into my tongue, biting back a screech of pure agony, until I tasted metal. Red crowded the edge of my vision as Alastair grinned widely at my toturous state.

"You know what my offer is, Chelsea. Why not accept?" he said smoothly. "You know how much pain it would save you."

I slowly loosed my taut jaws to reply, trying not to howl in pain and anger. "My response remains the same. Nothing in this world would more painful than destroying innocent souls piece by piece." Alastair's only response was to twist the blade around, renewing and strengthening the fire. A let out a wail as he wrenched it from my thigh, crimson blood splattering the stone floor. As he sauntered away, the anger faded and I felt more exhausted than ever. My head drooped and my eyelids slid shut as the demons gathered around to put me back together again.

The roaring pain slowly faded as I was pieced back to wholeness. Faded, but not entirely gone. There was still a dull ache, but I ignored as best I could. Right now I needed rest, even though I knew it wouldn't do me any good. No matter what I did, tomorrow and the day after that, and the day after that, would undoubtedly be the same. For the rest of eternity, until the day I would finally snap...

I firmly pushed the thought from my mind and locked it behind iron doors. Nothing Alastair could do, nothing this demons belly could throw at me that would shake my decision. And yet... And yet, and yet, and yet. There would be no pain, nothing to maul me and shatter me. Perhaps I would even get to torture Alastair, make him feel the same way I did. To take him apart, piece by piece by piece, until there was nothing left to put back.

The sound of footsteps snapped me away from my thoughts. I raised my eyes to see Alastair in front of me, a dagger glinting in his right hand. By now, I didn't have enough strength to lift my head, no matter how mad he made me. Alastair pushed the bottom of my chin up with the flat of the blade and scrutinized my face. "You've been thinking," he stated flatly. I closed my eyes and let out a tiny grunt. "I can see you most likely haven't changed your mind. Perhaps I can change it for you," he said. I could hear the smile in his voice. I tried to protest as he twisted the blade around so that the tip was pushing at my skin. I gasped at it began to force its way through.

_No. No, no NO! _I thought, the old fire renewed. "NO!" I yelped, not even telling myself to. His blade didn't slow, and I could feel the tip begin to prod at the bottom of my tongue. Then I felt something...snap inside of me. Something just shattered. Broke. "Please, stop! Please! I...I accept!" I begged, horrified at my own words. Alastair's dagger stopped and he ripped it from my head. I groaned as my blood splattered the stones once again and my head lolled back.

Then, suddenly, the pain was just...gone. My arms and legs were free. I gasped as I stood on my own two feet for the first time in... How long had I been here? It didn't matter now. My head and vision clear, I looked around at my surroundings. Alastair was still standing in front of me, but we were in a room somewhere. And in the middle of the floor was a half-terrified victim chained to an altar, a covered cart in front of her. "I'll take this one," Alastair said. "You can watch."

I did. And then hated myself for it. I knew exactly what this poor woman was going through, what it felt like to be taken apart. Just a few seconds ago, I _was _her. But when the first drop of crimson escaped, that broken something mended itself into something new. Something different. I was afraid of it, sure, but I welcomed it. I welcomed the monster inside, and it was horrid. All my thoughts, my emotions, were about blood. When the demons turned up, I felt like dancing with them.

After a while, I earned my first solo victim. While I was torturing, I didn't even know what I was doing. The monster in my head had an iron grip on my brain. It was awful, not being in control of myself, not knowing what I was doing. Every day, for God knows how long, it was the same routine: I would torture some soul, actually enjoy it, and then sit in my cell with screams of agony ringing in my ears. I hated what I had become, but didn't know how to change it. I was a monster. Then came the day when I finally got my revenge.

XxXxX

"They sent you? Are you kidding me?" Alastair sneered mockingly. "This is too good." All at once, the screams of agony of those I had tortured flooded my head, ringing in my ears. In clenched the cart, my knuckles going white, but I wound not let Alastair see my weakness. I stopped in front of him and slowly pulled the tarp away, revealing an array of knives, a jug of Holy Water, and two full canteens of salt.

"You know, Alastair," I said, turning a machete so it caught the light, "you sure do have a big mouth for someone half-dead. Let's fix that, shall we?"

"Oh Chelsea," he chuckled. "You're not really scaring me. I think you can do better." One corner of my mouth turned up in a broken half smile. _This'll be fun, _I thought, setting the machete down and choosing a dagger in its place. I dipped it into the Holy Water and sauntered up to my victim.

"Do you regret anything?" I asked. "Want to take something back?" I pulled up my sleeve, revealing two ragged scars running parallel up my forearm, a token from one of our many sessions. "You scarred me; mauled me beyond recognition. I can't even count how many times you left me down there, ripped apart. Well, now I get to do the same to you, with one small difference: when I'm done, they won't be able to put you back."

I traced the tip of my dagger across his throat, glaring into his eyes. Then I did the thing I had practically dreamed of since who-knows-when: slowly traced up to the bottom of his chin and dug in my dagger.


	2. Chapter 2: Revenge is Sweet

**Hooray! Another chapter! I will probably end off each chapter with a cliff-hanger for the next, just as a heads-up.**

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CHAPTER TWO: Revenge is Sweet

Alastair's face went ashen and he let out choking sounds. I permitted a small deranged laugh to escape my mouth as a drop of his dark crimson splattered on my knuckle and ran down my hand. I twisted the blade slowly, dragging out his pain, and then wrenched it from his head. Another little laugh filled the air as his blood hit the floor, much like my own had. His head flopped down onto his chest, and he smiled a dripping red smile. "You know, I really thought you could do better," he cackled. "I guess I was wrong about you." His last sentence infuriated me, but I pushed it down. I would let out my anger, slowly and surely.

"No," I whispered, "I'm just getting started." I walked slowly back to my cart, the bloodied dagger catching the light. I fingered the machete, then picked it and a canteen of salt up and returned to my victim. _He had no idea how bad he's going to get it, _I thought. I chuckled quietly and cast Alastair a mocking yet venom-filled glance and slowly dragged my machete across his stomach, creating a heavily bleeding X. He gasped as more crimson joined the already-dried blood on the floor, curling his lip in a snarl of defiance. I tightened my grip on the handle of the blade as he fired another volley of words at me.

"Who have you become, my _dear_ Chelsea?" he growled. "When I offered to take you off the rack, I thought you be weak, spineless. But now, well, you're swimming, _drowning_ in blood and pain and anger. You act strong and cold so you can hide; from the world, from the pain, from yourself. You think all of this is actually getting you somewhere, but all it's doing is nothing. You'll always be weak, always be nothing." I remained stone still throughout his little speech, but those last few words... I didn't know what happened. It all kind of went past in a blur, but I didn't care. All that mattered to me was that I was finally causing Alastair pain, and I liked it.

I started at the fingers, cutting them off joint by joint, on each hand in turn. Then came the entire hand, sawing them both off at the wrists. Then came his face. That seemed to drag on forever. I slowly sliced my blade through the skin, carving little patterns of blood, and topping off all of my good work with a little Holy Water and salt. By the time I was done with the son of a bitch, my hands, face, the floor, and Alastair were stained a vibrant red. His howls of agony echoed in my head, and I grabbed them and tucked them away to savor.

I had a reputation. A reputation among the dead, the demons, the tortured souls. They said I was insane, ruthless, blood-thirsty. A monster. An animal. And it was all true, every word. I craved blood-shed, the twisted cries of my victims. I was afraid of myself, of what I had become, but I was more afraid of change. I was purely machine. And even though I knew it was naive, I blamed it all on that mo-fo Alastair.

All of these thoughts and feeling ran through my head as I left the blood soaked room and walked down the long hallway. Someone else would take care of my tools and cart. I barely even noticed the souls I passed, my bloody face and hands, their wary sideways glances. When I finally returned to my chamber, I realized I still held my machete in my right hand. I sat down on my flimsy cot and commenced to wipe the blade with a stray rag until it was shiny once more.

I set my machete down on a shelf, admiring the way it caught the light, and glanced around my chamber. It was more like a prison cell, which seemed to fit me in a way. All there was within the four walls was a cot, a low shelf, and a little faucet with no sink to catch the water. I got up, turned on the water, and began to rinse my hands and face of the red, watching as the stained water slowly disappeared down the drain in the middle of the cement floor. When I finally turned in for the night (or what they called night), heart-breaking memories clenched my brain with a steely grip.

XxXxX

_"Just hang on, hon," I whispered, my voice trembling as tears slid down my cheeks. "I'll make you feel better soon, I promise. Don't give up yet." I reached out to take my daughter's cold, blue hand as she lay on her mattress, probably dying. Her pneumonia was getting worse and worse by the day, and I didn't know what I could do. The doctors had given up already. But I wouldn't, not now, not ever._

_"Mommy," Tiffany murmured feebly. "I'm s__o__ cold. Why won't it go away?" I gently shushed her, trying to conserve what little strength she had left._

_"Close your eyes, dearest," I said. "I'll be right here. But you have to promise me not to fall asleep, understand?" Tiff nodded weakly, and her beautiful clear blue eyes fluttered shut. I rested my head on the edge of her bed, tears streaming from my eyes, feeling utterly defeated. It was a horrible feeling, not knowing what you should do when someone you love needs you most. "Oh, God," I murmured. "Please help me out here. I need you now." I paused for a second after my makeshift prayer, clinging to the hope that something would happen, but knowing that nothing would. I closed my eyes, my brows furrowing slightly, and cried uncontrollably onto the thickly layered comforters._

_I jumped as someone tapped my shoulder, shot to my feet, and spun around to see some old guy standing in the middle of the room. He was dressed in black, and his face was practically skin and bones. He was, basically, creepy. "Who the hell are you?" I demanded, wondering how he even got into my house. "How'd you even get in here?"_

_"All of that is unimportant at the moment," he replied, his voice sounding like he had a hair-ball or something. "What is important, however, is that your precious daughter is dying. Pneumonia, I believe?" I immediately stepped in front of Tiff, my arms and legs braced to spring. The mystery guy held up his hands. "Relax, please. You wanted her to recover, correct? Well, I can do just that, through a little deal." I relaxed my tensed muscles slightly, uncertain as to whether or not I could trust him.  
_

_"What's your offer?" I asked warily. The corners of his mouth turned up in a feeble attempt at a smile, and he held out a yellowed, rolled up piece of parchment. I took it and skimmed over the document, which was written in small loopy ink. At the bottom was a thick black signature line._

_"All you have to do is sign, and by tomorrow she'll be good as new," he said. "All I need to confirm our deal is your blood." _

_ I shivered at the ominous words and cast a glance back at my little Tiffany. _For her, _I thought. I took a deep breath and faced the mystery man again. __"What do you want in exchange?" I asked._

_"Clever, aren't you? That, my dear, will be revealed all in due time." I nodded slowly, and he handed my a small needle. _My blood, _I thought. _Right._ I quickly pricked my finger, wincing as a single drop of crimson squeezed out and fell, splattering on the parchment. The man then took it from me, smiled, and vanished with a wink._

XxXxX

I sat bot upright on my cot, my forehead coated in a sheen of sweat. The memory of that fateful day kept replaying itself on the backs of my eyelids whenever I closed my eyes. I sat there in silence for a few seconds, elbows on knees and head in hands, trying to forget. Then I was virtually blinded by a flash of bright white light and fell back against the wall, my hands now shielding my face. When I could finally see again, my eyes boggled and my jaw fell open in shock. There was a young girl standing in the middle of my chamber, donned in flowing white robes. I tried to speak, but I came out as a croak.

"Tiffany?"

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**After I reread this, I noticed that Alastair sounded a little like Loki (from The Avengers & Thor) while Chelsea was torturing him, but oh well. Live and learn, right? ;)**


	3. Chapter 3: Up from Hell

**The ball's rolling today! Sorry about the short chapters, the long paragraphs kind of distort the length wile I'm writing. But I can only fit so much to add suspense, you know. ;)**

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CHAPTER THREE: Up from Hell

_My little girl. _I could barely believe it. My daughter, my Tiffany, was standing right there in front of me. She held out a pale hand, and I took it and stood up, tears threatening to spill over. She smiled and threw her arms around my middle, and I clutched her tight, afraid she would disappear again. "Mommy," she whispered. "I never thought I'd see you again, not here." I just stroked her curly dark red hair. Tiffany pulled away and looked me straight in the eye, her expression serious.

"This is crazy," she said, her voice ringing. "You need to stop this madness. This is not who you really are, not what you were meant for. They want me to send you back." I could barely believe my ears this time. _'__Not what I was meant for?' _I wondered. _What? _I didn't get a chance to put in a comment before Tiff continued. "You can go back to Earth, live again. Take my offer or leave it, but if you do accept, I have to warn you: it'll hurt." I took a deep breath and shut my eyes. Back to Earth. There was nothing up there for me anyway, nobody waiting for me to crawl from my grave. Granted, there was nothing for me down here, too, but I was happy here, among the dead.

"How much will it hurt?" I asked, my eyes still closed.

I could hear the frown in her voice as Tiff replied, "It'll pretty much feel like you've been run over by a semi-truck at first, and then there's the dirt. The pain doesn't last long, though." I nodded and opened my eyes to see her half-smiling, half-frowning. "Are you considering accepting?" Tiffany asked.

"I still have one more question," I said. "Will I still be technically . . . dead?" I could barely get out the word 'dead'. _What's happening to me? _I wondered. _Pull it together! _A thoughtful look came into Tiffany's eyes, and she cocked her head to one side as she processed my question, just like she had in life. I sat back down, my knees starting to go weak for some reason. What was wrong with me? _ This was never a problem before, _I thought, confused. I snapped to attention as Tiff began to speak.

"Well, no, not necessarily," she said slowly. "But you'll just come back here if you die again. Do you accept?" I closed my eyes and nodded. "Remember this: you need to find a man by the name of Dean Winchester." My eyes flew open at the unfamiliar name, but Tiff's thumbs were already on my fore-head, and everything went dark. Well, darker.

I was floating in blackness, the name Dean Winchester ringing in my ears. All of a sudden, there was a heaviness in my chest and my head. And then, well . . . then every part of me, every fiber of my being, felt like it was on fire. The pain was worse than my torture sessions, worse than burning, worse than anything you could ever imagine. This wasn't just pain, it was red hot, searing, burning agony. I tried to move, to call out, but the heaviness was smothering me. When I opened my mouth, I swallowed damp earth. Suffocating, I surged upward, eventually breaking into fresh air. I took a huge breath, and then commenced hacking up clots of packed earth while pulling myself out of the grave.

When my entire body was finally free, I collapsed on the ground, still hacking up wet brown muck. When all the dirt was finally out of my lungs, I just lied there on my back and breathed. The brittle grass pricked at my arms and legs, but I ignored it. What I was air, and lots of it. Inviting blackness pushed at the edges of my brain, my limbs heavy and numb. I was immobile, in pain, and exhausted. _Son of a bitch, _I thought feebly.

With a sigh, I closed my eyes and drifted into consciousnesses. As my hearing faded, I heard very faint voices all around me.

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**Sorry it was so short, but there isn't much I can do lengthen it. But hey, it's hard to write in good detail with Breaking Benjamin blaring into your ears. XP**


	4. Chapter 4: The Devil Inside

**This chappie will be longer, I hope. GO BREAKING BENJAMIN! Sorry, spazy . . . And yes, I named this chapter after an old song!**

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CHAPTER FOUR: The Devil Inside

As drifted in and out of blackness, I caught glimpses of my surroundings. A while wall, a puke-colored blanket, a transparent bag of crimson liquid, a beeping machine, a worried face hovering above mine. My whole body from the neck down was half numb. It was odd, not knowing where I was or having control over my own body parts. When I finally regained my senses and feeling, I managed to get a good idea of where I was, despite the fuzzy vision.

A hospital. _What the hell? _I wondered. At the foot of my bed, a nurse was poking worriedly at machine, and when I looked down at my arms there were numerous needles attached to me. I let out a small gag, drawing the nurse's attention. "My dear," she exclaimed, "you're awake!" I just stared at her as she came around to my head, my vision growing considerably clearer. She glanced at the bag of crimson - my blood! - and scribbled something down on a clipboard. She then put a cool, damp rag on my fore-head.

"I glad you're up," she said kindly. "You've been out cold for about three days now. When those campers found you, were half-choked and covered in dirt. Fortunately, all of your vitals are stable, blood pressure normal . . ." The nurse rambled on quietly to herself, and then eventually left with the clipboard and the rag. My head spun with this new information. _Three whole days!? _I thought, shocked. _Damn . . . _I slowly pushed myself up onto my elbows, causing my sight to cloud a little once more. Then the past days' events hit me with a bang.

Tiffany, the pain, dirt, Dean Winchester, the blackness . . . Dean Winchester! That man Tiff told me to find. I leaned my head against the crinkly pillows, my head hurting from thinking. I shut my eyes and sighed. I shivered as a cold breeze blew through my little room and opened my eyes, annoyed at whoever had turned on the AC. The beeping machine - which was monitoring my heart beat - was wild as a black cloud drifted from the vent in the top of the wall. I could remember it's form from Hell. A demon. It seemed to creep across the floor as it made it's way over to me. It paused by my head, took the form of a gruesome creature, and plunged into my nose and mouth. I tried to move as I felt it spread throughout my body slowly, seizing control of me inch by inch. Then it reached my heart, and the beeps went silent.

I lurched as it took control over my brain, my thoughts. My vision went blank, and the thing inside me knotted me up in a ball and locked my away in a corner of my mind. I felt utterly exposed and vulnerable, but at least there was no pain. Then I began to regain my eyesight, and found myself sitting on the floor of a doorless, windowless room. The floor was glassy, the walls black, the roof a mirror. I was trapped in a little box, imprisoned within my own mind as a monster masquerading as me ran wild.

Then a strange thing happened. I could see, hear, think, but none of it was my own. It was like the demon was granting me some freedom, or maybe a better description would be like I was at a movie. I saw it (I wouldn't accept that it was me) fling the covers aside, stand up, and murder the nurse who came scurrying in. I hated it: the blood on my hands, the blood constantly on my mind. And at the top of my box, I saw a man's face appear with a name. The face was handsome, with green eyes, short, messy brown hair, and a stubbly chin. It was, all-in-all, unfamiliar, but the name I recognized in a second.

Dean Winchester.

That was this thing's mission: to find and probably murder the man Tiffany had sent me to find. I lied there on my back, trying to memorize the face as well as I could before it vanished. I watched, heard myself leave the hospital, and undeniably killing any nurse that got in my way. The demon dashed across the parking lot, stopped at a beautiful dark blue Corvette stingray, and wrenched the door open. It then climbed in, shut the door again, and snapped. To my utter amazement, the car roared to life, and the thing in me sped off down the highway.

Numerous images flashed across the ceiling of my prison, each one too fast to see. It looked to me that the thing was trying to pinpoint Dean's location. The little slide-show finally halted on an image of a cheap motel room. It was shady in there, but I could make out someone's sleeping form in one of the beds. Another figure paced across the length of the room. Seemingly satisfied, the demon sped up and swerved in between the gaps of a sea of traffic, not giving a second thought to the sirens and flashing lights tailing the car. It finally fish-tailed into a parking lot and screeched to a halt in from of a run-down motel. The only other cars there were a black Impala and a Jeep. The neon sign read "Gregorio's".

The demon leaped out of the Corvette, leaving the driver's side door wide open, and burst inside. The bellman looked surprised at its sudden appearance, then straightened his cap nervously and cleared his throat. "Greetings, ma'am," he said. "Would you like to check in?" It looked at him, then shook its head sweetly. It made me sick. The demon walked over to the desk and leaned against it slightly.

"I'm afraid not," it purred. "However, there is something you can help me with. Could you tell me which room a man by the name of Dean Winchester is staying in?" The bellman smiled timidly and checked a clipboard. He flipped through the few pages, finally pointing to a line on the last page.

"Room 346."

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**Poor naive little bellman... Okay, I lied. This chapter really wasn't much longer than the last, but I'm only human. :) The Impala! Yay! And yes, the hijacked car had to be a stingray. It's my dream car.**


	5. Chapter 5: Why is it always demons?

**Hooray! Dean's point of view! dXP This'll be fun...**

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CHAPTER FIVE: Why is it always demons?

Dean rolled over restlessly in his sleep. He was getting the strangest feeling that someone - or thing - was watching him, but he couldn't figure out why, and frankly, it was freaking him out a little. He finally gave up on sleep, opened his eyes, and sat up. He saw Castiel sitting at the little rickety table the cheesy motel had to offer, staring out the window absently, an untouched bagel in front of him. The angel's head swiveled to face him as he swung his legs out of bed and got up to get dressed. He said something, but Dean could barely hear it over the shirt his was pulling over his head (once again, he had fallen asleep in his jeans). He shrugged into his leather jacket, sat down across from Cas, and took his bagel. Cas just stared at him as the bagel disappeared, an urgent look on his face. "Sorry, were you going to eat that?" Dean asked jokingly.

"We have to leave now," Cas replied, apparently ignoring Dean's comment. "There's something coming. For you." Dean rolled his eyes, hiding the sensation he was being watched. He walked over to the TV, where he had hidden a revolver and a pistol, and pocketed the two guns before fishing around for his father's journal.

"Don't be so paranoid," he scoffed. "In case you hadn't noticed, about every other thing on this damn planet is after me. I think I can handle it, thanks." He jumped as Castiel grabbed his wrist. _You hunt demons and monsters on a daily basis, but a freakin' angel can scare you from three feet away? _he scolded himself mentally. _And you call yourself a hunter. _"And don't sneak up on me like that!" he snapped aloud. When he looked at Cas, his expression was now a mixture of urgency and seriousness.

"This thing means business," he said, "and it won't rest until it finds you. So I suggest we leave." Dean opened his mouth to reply when the tapping of a knock on the door interrupted him. He sighed and moved toward the door, pausing at Cas' small comment: "Too late." It make him feel slightly uneasy, but he opened the door anyway. Standing in the hallway was a woman, and, well . . . Dean had to admit that she was hot. To his confusion, she stared straight past him at Cas, a small grimace on her face. Their eyes locked for a split second, and then Castiel disappeared. The woman than faced him, a smile on her face. Dean just stared at her for moment, and then saw something that sent him straight into hunter mode.

For a split second, her eyes flashed black.

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**Okay, this is obviously not the entire chapter, but I've got writer's block big time. So I'm gonna post this to keep you happy.**


	6. Author's Note (Please don't flame!)

**Hey, my Supernatural peeps. :) I know it's been genuine _ages_ since my last update on this story, and for that I apologise. I would update, but I can't think of anything for the next chapter. As mentioned in the description and on my profile, this story is on hold, but I will be re-vamping the chapters I have already posted. My writing style has adapted since my last update, trust me, so this has grown a little out-dated in my eyes. There will be more detail. Typos and other grammatical errors will be corrected, as well. I swear, when I re-read this my first thought was 'Man, this is crap. MUST RE-WRITE!' XD**

**Meanwhile, I will be updating my other stories, in particular Silverstep's Story. And as a note, I have made a pledge to not post any more chapter-fics until I finish this, Silverstep's Story, A Gory Demise, and Warriors of Feline Sacrifice. I will post the occasional one/two-shot, but nothing besides that. Just thought I'd let you know, since my list of stories I'll publish in the future is so long. XP**

**With all that said, I just wanted to thank everyone who has followed or favourited myself or my stories. It means a lot to me, that and the reviews. Gotta love the reviews. :) Except, of course, the complainers telling me I'm breaking the rules. Those people annoy me. XC**

**And yes, I write like a Brit now. :3 I just love their language, dunno why.**

**-512-**

**P.S.: I know that this chapter is made up of "non-story content," which is against the rules. I also know that this chapter will earn me at least two reviews telling me that they'll report me if I don't take it down. Just bear with me, please. I'd love to post some story content, believe me, but my creative inspiration bought a plane ticket to Hawaii. Besides, I'll admit that I have some chapters pre-written for this story, but I can't post those until I get up to those points, which may take a little while.**


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